


To Be Wanted

by Anonymous



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Asexual Character, Introspection, Jon has anorgasmia because I want more stories about people like me, M/M, Trans Jonathan Sims, a quick drabble about the mortifying ordeal of being known, so is anyone going to project onto this man or will I have to do it for him?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:06:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24107971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Though even with the way Martin looked at him (like he was beautiful. Like he waswanted) he couldn't shake the feeling that he was, at his core, something undesirable.The weird feeling of new relationships, not quite knowing your boundaries and being a genetic anomaly.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 2
Kudos: 159
Collections: Anonymous





	To Be Wanted

**Author's Note:**

> Note: I am nonbinary, not a trans man and as such, I only know these experiences from the perspective of someone nonbinary. If I have made any mistakes or have come off as offensive accidentally please don't feel afraid to correct me. Thank you!

Ever since he was around fifteen, Jon had known he was asexual. He never had a partner until he dated Georgie in uni, he had the offputting demeanour and general lack of social skills or connections to thank for that.

Georgie was lovely, he adored Georgie. She was the first person who sat him down and made him spill out his boundaries, what he was comfortable with, what he didn't like in a relationship. Him, not really knowing anything other than what he'd read or seen in the small proximity of friends he'd made over the years, wasn't sure exactly. His plan was to just run headfirst into it. If she wanted something he'd give it to her, she deserved that much.

Thinking back on it, it was such a stupid thing to think. Stubborn, wonderful Georgie had rolled her eyes and grabbed his shoulders and given him a little shake, as if to say "pull yourself together" and decided to continue the conversation later.

Given his less than stellar experience, he didn't know what would have been expected of him. What would be considered _normal_. There was hardly anything normal about him (thank you latent childhood trauma).

He loved Georgie but… Martin was different. Of course, Martin was different.

He was insufferable and so, so endearing and the first time he'd found himself lying under him, hand in his hair and thigh resting gently between his own, he'd panicked.

A conversation over tea it was then, another conversation about wants and needs and _boundaries_.

The thing about being so certain about himself was that he'd always expected other people to just… Get it.

It was complicated, to say the least. People would nod and think they understood. "Nothing sexual for him, then" they would nod again.

He wasn't opposed to it though. He'd made out in the bathroom of a uni party and enjoyed it, Georgie had kissed his jaw and his neck and his chest and he'd enjoyed it. He'd reciprocated, of course, but he'd always get tired by the time he reached her hips and would just lie against her stomach sleepily instead.

And besides, he wouldn't have much to enjoy even if he wanted to. The few times he hid beneath his sheets, trying to think of things like bodies and hot breath against his ear and quiet noises shared between two people he just… Couldn't.

It was the same every time, the feeling of release never came and he would instead feel twitchy and painful. Hardly the rewarding experience everyone talked so highly about.

He couldn't help but roll his eyes and feel as if people were exaggerating when they said sex was a human need. He'd lived this long without it.

He'd tried to explain it though, the way his feelings changed every other day. That sometimes he could press warm kisses down Martin's throat and fall asleep against his shoulder and sometimes the feeling of tongues disgusted him and teeth against his skin felt too much like aggression.

He remembered hating it, that dull pain of someone biting, again and again until he was red and raw and bruising. He'd read about people gasping, moaning into the sensation but it only ever made him want to curl up and cry.

Overstimulation crossed his mind. Too much, too quickly, repeating over and over because a person's chest is so much room to cover.

Martin had kissed his thighs once, pressed his fingers against his stomach where his shirt had ridden up and rested his head adoringly against his hip. Jon had inhaled sharply, smiling and turning his head to press into the pillows so far his neck began to cramp. The attention was what got him, he suspected, someone staring at him so lovingly made his heart seize up and his brain give out. The idea that someone would even think of looking at him like that broke something cold and hardened inside of him.

He'd liked it then and he'd liked it when Martin had held his thighs for leverage. Jon perched on his lap cradling his head below his chin, curly hair twisted between his fingers and his glasses digging into his collarbone.

Though even with the way Martin looked at him (like he was beautiful. Like he was _wanted_ ) he couldn't shake the feeling that he was, at his core, something undesirable.

Intimacy was expected of him. It was expected out of a relationship. People wanted sex and they wanted to share it with someone. For someone like him, someone who was disgusted by the idea of being touched, who was exhausted by the time shirts were taken off. More than that, someone who couldn't even orgasm. He was used to the idea that he would never get to be wanted.

But intimacy to him wasn't just warm hands against his ribs. He'd felt the same sticky sense of love in his chest when Martin held his wrist, rubbing whatever moisturizer he'd found at the village into the scars on his palm. He'd felt it when he'd been given a mug of tea, perfect and warm and he'd felt known.

His right hand was slow and clumsy but he could still brush his fingers through the hair by Martin's ear, soothe the skin weighed down by his heavy glasses with his ridiculous prescription.

There was something to be said about the sense of comfort he found lying shirtless in bed together, Martin's hands only ever travelling over his shoulder blades.

Which is to say, explaining something he'd known since he was a gross sweaty teenager was hard. It was hard to extract just what he needed to share and what could stay tucked away and personal but Martin had nodded and he'd chimed in and he _understood_. 

Martin had asked if it was okay if they kissed and Jon's heart ached so hard he'd croaked when he answered "Yes. Yes, I think that would be alright."


End file.
